The Only Way
by Winter Solstice1
Summary: Now complete with epilogue! An Auror visits a prisoner in Azkaban prison...but all is not as it seems...SSHG post HBP. Spoilers and knowledge from HBP assumed!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Well, after a long absence of anything from me, the publication of HBP has inspired this. There are obviously spoilers for this book within the story so PLEASE don't read it if you haven't finished the book.

I'm not sure how many chapters there will be yet, but probably not more than 5. I'm a bit rusty, so please bear with me! This chapter may seem a little odd, but all will be revealed soon enough.

Obviously I own nothing and would prefer not to be sued if at all possible.

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The young Auror's boots crunched noisily on the black shale that marked the path from the windswept beach to the wizard prison of Azkaban, and it had it had begun to rain the second that she had stepped foot onto the godforsaken island. The wind snapped eagerly around robes the colour of damp ashes, seeking a way beneath the hood of the Auror's travelling cloak to remove it from her head, but unknown forces held the hood in place, keeping it completely still as the wind howled its' frustration in the gale.

Less than a hundred paces along the path, the prison loomed above her, as dark and forbidding as anything she had ever seen. Seemingly a triumph of neo-gothic architecture, the building had been hewn from a black stone that the Auror could not identify, and it seemed to steal away even the grey half-light of the January day. Perhaps a hundred windows, glazed only with bars, stared bleakly out to sea, impossibly close together, and gathered around a single entranceway, which was topped by an intimidating portcullis. _The only way in, _the Auror thought to herself.

_The only way out._

A new coldness settled about her shoulders as she passed underneath the portcullis, an indefinable feeling of dread and despair, the hallmarks of prior dementor occupation. Even though they had left Azkaban a long time ago, the Auror felt their lingering presence as surely as though they were standing right in front of her. As it happened, and to her relief, only a wizard stood waiting impatiently for her before a black studded door; he was, she noticed, clad in robes of deepest purple - the uniform for the prison guards - and he was hopping from foot to foot.

"Hello," the Auror greeted the short, balding man from within the confines of her hood. He squinted into the space beneath her hood where he knew her face to be and gave a short nod in reply. "I'm here to see - "

"- I know who you're here to see!" He rasped, examining the card which she proffered to confirm her identity and glancing at the insignia she wore on the left hand side of her chest. "Auror First Class, eh?" He muttered. "You'll need more than that with _him_."

He turned to the door, which opened soundlessly and without his interference into a gloomy hall. They both stepped into the room and the door closed silently behind them. Somewhere in the distance, the Auror could hear the trickling of water. Looking around the hall, she could see moisture on the black walls, which pooled into dark puddles at every opportunity. The guard followed the direction of the Auror's gaze.

"Been here before, have you?" He asked.

"No." She was curt. "I am not here by choice."

"Who is?" The guard managed a wheezy laugh and produced a Secrecy Sensor from an inside pocket of his robes. He ran it efficiently up and down the Auror's back and front. It did not identify anything illegal, and was tucked away with a barely-concealed sigh. "Wand."

It was not a request.

The Auror handed her wand over without protest; she had been prepared for this.

"What's in the bag?" The guard pocketed her wand without as much as a single glance at it. He was looking at the canvas bag that she wore diagonally across her torso. The Auror removed it without disturbing her hood and showed him the contents.

"Clean robes. Soup. Bread. All of which I was led to believe would be permitted."

The guard nodded, but there was disgust in his eyes now. "He doesn't deserve anything."

In the concealing darkness of her cowl, the Auror almost smiled.

"I was instructed to bring them."

The guard had produced parchment and a quill, and was detailing the items she had brought.

"Reason for visit?" He enquired.

"Official Ministry business."

"Which is?"

"Confidential."

He sighed, and proffered the parchment.

"Sign here. I'll be back in a minute. Wait here."

He turned and disappeared into a dark corridor, and the Auror listened to the sound of his footsteps as their echo faded away. Alone in the hall, she pulled her robes a little closer to her body and crossed her arms in front of her. If it were possible, it seemed colder within the prison than it was without. She waited for nearly fifteen minutes before the guard reappeared; now jingling a large bunch of keys.

"You've been cleared," he grunted. "Follow me."

The Auror's boots made no sound on the floor, even though it was deeply pitted in places and waterlogged in others. The guard unlocked a door at the end of the hall. It looked new. The Auror understood, but the guard said it anyway.

"Didn't need locked doors when _they _were here, of course."

He was leading her down a long corridor which looked as if it ran the length of one half of the building. It had no windows, and torches burning at intervals along the walls provided the only light. The corridor was lined with endless other doors, all cells.

They were all empty.

"If no one is here by choice, that does not explain your presence here," the Auror addressed the guard quietly. She found herself slightly curious in a way that demanded an answer.

"Oh, it's quite simple." He shortened his stride so that they were walking alongside each other. The Auror nodded.

"Money?" She asked.

"Money." He replied grimly. "Six months a year here pays better than twelve anywhere else."

"Do you have a family, Guard…" She glanced at his badge. It said 'Head Guard'.

"Yeah. They understand though…we all have to make sacrifices sometimes, don't we?"

_More than you know, _the Auror thought, but murmured her agreement all the same.

A few steps further on, the Guard came to a halt in front of what was nearly the last cell on the corridor and reached up to free a torch from its bracket on the wall. He thrust it towards the Auror, who took it, and then moved forward to the cell door. Checking through a narrow opening at the top, he unlocked the door. It swung creakily open, revealing a cell which was barely three metres by two. The cell contained three things that the Auror could see.

A bucket.

A litter which seemed to be made from straw.

And a man.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for all the very kind reviews.

I own nothing, as usual.

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The Auror stared.

The man was thin and pallid, like an invalid or someone who has been out of the sun for too long, with stringy dark hair. He was wearing robes that were so ripped and torn it was a wonder that they held together to cover him as he huddled on the bare stone floor beneath the window. Pale arms hugged pale knees, and his face was lowered onto them. He appeared to be sleeping. The reek of the room rolled out into the corridor.

The Auror could not hide her disgust. Turning away, she looked back at the guard.

"Is there a room where I can interview him?" She snarled.

Looking slightly taken aback, the guard pointed to a door at the end of the hall, and the Auror strode up to it, flinging it open and inspecting the room beyond. Although as bare as all the others she had seen, it was at least dry and there was an unlit fireplace at one end. A wooden table and two chairs were the only furniture.

"It will do. Light the fire, please."

The guard looked as though he would like to argue with her, but did not. Extracting his wand from the sleeve of his robes, he pointed it at the fireplace and muttered the incantation. Fire crackled in the grate.

"Fine. Bring me some tea, please."

At this, the little man visibly bristled, and opened his mouth to speak. The Auror silenced him with a slicing gesture of her hand, which although not magical, was threatening enough to make him think better of it, and although his eyes flitted to the still sleeping man on the floor of his cell, he looked to the table and pointed his wand once more. A china tea set appeared on the table. The Auror nodded.

"You may wait at the top of this corridor."

"Miss…! You must know about the regulations!" The guard appeared scandalised. "I cannot leave you with _him_! You don't know what he's capable of!"

The Auror turned, the hood of her cape swinging slightly. "I know exactly what he is capable of. Why do you think I am here?"

There was a pause.

"There are no other prisoners on this corridor. I am a First Class Auror. He will not harm me," her voice had softened. "He will not."

The guard shook his head, and turned away.

"Have it your way," he muttered. "It's not my neck on the line…."

The Auror stared at the wall next to the man's cell until the guard had walked the length of the corridor and exited it. Only then did she move to once again look inside, to gather her courage, and to step silently into the small room.

The man did not move, and did not show any signs of even knowing that she was there even when she crouched down a few centimetres in front of him, close enough to realise that he was in a worse state than she had first thought. Breathing slowly through her nose, she reached out a hand and placed it on the man's bony shoulder to give him a small shake. His skin was cold against her warmer fingers, and he stirred sluggishly. The Auror was about to rise to her feet when the man lurched from apparent sleepiness to total wakefulness in a handful of seconds.

A hand had grasped her wrist surprisingly tightly before she could prevent it, and she turned her attention away from that to see that he had lifted his head, too. Cold black eyes in a face that was all planes and angles were staring at her with feverish intensity and she instinctively pulled away, wrenching her wrist from his grasp and hurriedly rising to her feet.

The man did not move from his position on the floor, but stared up at her warily as she massaged her wrist and struggled to regulate her breathing.

"Snape…" she whispered his name, but she was certain he had heard her. "Severus Snape…."

"Who…are you?" the man's voice, when he finally spoke, was raw and broken from disuse, but still recognisable for what it had once been.

"I'm an auror. From the Ministry." She found her voice, and was relived to find that it sounded completely normal, despite her fright.

"I asked _who_ you were. I can see for myself _what_ you are." The voice was loaded with waspish annoyance, the Auror watched impassively and did not offer to help as he struggled to his feet and then winced.

"There is no need for you to know my name," she informed him, forcing an edge of coldness into her voice, but surprised all the same when he bowed his head.

"What are you…?"

"No more questions." She removed the set of robes from the bag she still carried and tossed them towards him. They landed in his arms; he clutched them to himself. "Put these on. Then we can talk. I'll wait outside."

Standing outside the cell and waiting for him to change into the new robes seemed to take an age, an age in which the Auror struggled to contain the hot bubble of rage and grief that was suddenly bubbling within her. For all of her training and preparation she was not sure she knew how to deal with the situation she now found herself in.

Knowing what the man, _Snape_, had done.

Knowing what she, herself, had been sent to Azkaban to do…

"What now?"

Snape had appeared in the doorway to the cell, and was looking cautiously out as if he did not quite believe that the door was open. He was wearing the robes she had given him but they were almost hanging from his thin frame. The Auror lifted her arm and pointed to the room at the end of the hallway.

"In there."

He walked stiffly towards the room, stopping once inside.

"Sit." She pointed to one of the chairs and he stared back at her, hesitating.

"Sit _now_ or you can go back to your cell." The steel in her voice echoed off the walls. He sat. She shut the door behind her and moved to sit in the other chair. Producing the bread and flask of soup from her bag, she placed them on the table in front of him. "Eat."

There was no hesitation this time. Severus Snape fell upon the food as though he were starving, eating quickly and without finesse, tearing at the bread and slurping at the soup. The Auror waited until he was halfway through both and had paused before speaking again.

"How do you know that either of those haven't been poisoned?" She asked him quietly. Snape continued to eat, watching her with eyes colder and deader than she had ever seen.

"It makes no difference to me what you have done to it." He said between mouthfuls. "If you have poisoned it and I die then you are doing me a favour. If you have not, and this is just food, you are still doing me a favour."

She had no reply to that, and instead waited until he had finished eating, the tea pushed off to one side and forgotten. When all the food had gone Snape sat back in his chair and stared into the fire, carefully placing both hands upon the table as he did so. The Auror took a deep breath.

"Severus Tobias Snape," she began in a hard voice, and his head snapped back to the cowl of her robes. "It is my duty to inform you that last month, on the twentieth of December, the Ministry of Magic unanimously voted to repeal the anti-execution law for all known Death Eaters. A date for your execution has yet to be set. You will be informed accordingly."

In his chair, Snape was shockingly pale.

"You will be executed without trial and without ceremony. There is no opportunity for appeal." She looked at him closely, he was sweating. "Have you anything to say, for the official record?"

"What…" He seemed to be struggling to breathe. "For what crime am I to be executed for?"

The Auror found that she could not keep the fury from her voice.

"The murder of Albus Dumbledore, formerly headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardy."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews, they're very encouraging!

I am not happy with this chapter, and so I've decided to post chapter 4, which I personally think it much better, alongside it immediately. Unfortunately, this now means I have nothing prewritten left to post...the next update might be a while in coming...

This is still not mine, sadly.

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Snape did something that the Auror had never known a condemned prisoner to do before.

He laughed.

The sound reverberated around the room, it contained neither joy nor mirth, and yet it continued for an impossibly long time, ending in a raw, drysob as Snape placed his head in his hands and held it there for a long time. She had almost given up hope of him speaking another word by the time he lifted his eyes to the darkness beneath her hood again, and his face was as composed as any newly condemned man she had seen in her service to the aurors.

"Is that my only crime?" He bit out jerkily.

"It is the only one which brings with it this punishment." The Auror replied. "There are others, of which you are well aware."

"Does seven years in this place not…" he shuddered, "provide adequate recompense for those?"

"The ministry is no longer interested in _those_," the Auror was dismissive. "You are to be punished for this one crime only, irrespective of the others."

Snape stared at her, hard.

"Do you think that execution is the correct punishment to fit my crime?" He asked.

The Auror hesitated.

"It is not my place to pass judgement on you, the Wizengamot decided - "

" - Yes, yes, but what do you think?"

"Why?"

"Because you are here and they are not."

The Auror understood that to speak her opinion to the murderer Snape was dangerous. She understood it and did it anyway.

"I think that anyone who would kill an unarmed man who had absolute trust in them without provocation and in cold blood should be punished to the fullest extent of the law." She shrugged. "If death is the fullest extent of the law then..." She hesitated, but he missed it.

Snape's eyes narrowed, pinching his thin face further. He leaned forwards in his seat and for the first time the Auror was grateful for the table separating them.

"Who are you?" He hissed.

"It doesn't matter who I am." She replied calmly.

"I beg to differ. For the bearer of such bad news to have such an…ah…opinionated view about capital punishment is not normal. Who are you?" He repeated.

The Auror rose to her feet, pushing the chair away as she did so. Clearly, seven years of incarceration had not dulled the man's brain in the slightest.

"You asked for my opinion and I gave it to you. What difference does who I am make?" Her eyes darted to the closed door as she played for time by answering a question with a question.

"Have you been sent to kill me? Now?" Snape had not moved from his seat, but was watching her closely.

"No!" The revulsion in her voice was clear. "No."

"Do you assume that because I would welcome my own death that I am also guilty of my crime?"

The Auror moved around the room to stand in front of him.

"You have never made any secret of your guilt, nor have you shown any remorse."

"Show me your face and I will tell you what really happened."

The offer was a startling one.

"No. I know what really happened." The Auror stood firm.

"Nobody else living knows what really happened, girl!" In some agitation, Snape pushed filthy strands of dark hair away from his face, inadvertently revealing a network of silvery scars that marked his inner arm from wrist to elbow as the sleeve of his robe was pushed back. The Auror stared at him.

"Are you saying that you didn't do it?" Her voice rose in disbelief.

"There's never been any doubt that I _did it_. What you should be asking yourself is _why_." Snape's eyes glinted with a strange fanatiscism that the Auror could not fathom.

"Because you're a Death Eater double agent…because your Dark Lord told you to…what other reasons are there?"

"Wrong. Wrong on both counts." The ghost of a smirk crossed his face, and was gone.

"Are you doing this to avoid death?"

"Not in the way that you think."

"_Then explain_."

"Tell me who you are."

The Auror stared at him from the concealment of her hood. She had no way of knowing if he was telling the truth, and she knew that the rantings of a man who had been driven more than a little mad by his imprisonment could be not trusted at all, but that fact remained that she wanted to know what it was he was offering to tell her. The chances were that it was nothing more than an elaborately woven lie constructed in an effort to retain his sanity during seven years of near complete isolation, but she had been hampered by curiosity all her life, should she let this opportunity pass?

No?

_No._

Reseating herself at the table, she took a moment to compose herself, and then before her nerve failed her completely she lifted her hands to the edge of her hood and pulled it back from her face completely whilst averting her eyes to the rough wood of the table. In the firelight she sat before him for a long time, totally unmasked, before finally lifting her eyes to see the look of astonishment that flitted across his face become replaced by one of disgust.

"Granger!" He hissed. "Hermione Granger!"

TBC...

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A/N 2: Hands up who didn't see _that _coming!

I suspect it was fairly obvious who the Auror was back in chapter one, my intention was only for Snape to be unaware of her identity until the end of this chapter...it doesn't work brilliantly, but it was the best I could manage!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Still not mine!

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"_Auror_ Granger." Her voice was as hard as her eyes. Snape crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair slightly, watching her all the while. Her brown eyes were steady as they met his, and although she was clearly angry, that anger was well enough controlled for him to assume the worst.

"You _are _here to kill me."

"No." She shook her head, curls dancing briefly in the firelight. "I came to deliver a message. That is exactly what I have done. If you were hoping to find a quick and painless death at my hands then you are sadly mistaken."

"Why did they send you?" His expression shifted into one of suspicious dread.

"I was not _sent_." She frowned.

"Are you not an Auror?"

Hermione ripped her auror insignia from the front of her robes and slammed it down on the table right in front of him with a dull thud.

"I am everything that I appear to be, Snape," she spat at him. "Unsurprisingly, none of my colleagues were eager to come and visit you…especially considering the nature of the message and your volatile nature! I volunteered."

"Why?" He was studying her intensely, not appearing to have heard the insults that she had angrily thrown in his direction. "Of all people, why you?"

She shrugged.

"There was no one else and I was…curious."

"First visit to Azkaban?" He sneered.

"Actually yes, but I was more curious about you."

"Me? I am not an exhibit from one of your muggle zoos!"

"No, you're one of the only inmates of a wizarding prison! That hardly makes you any better, Professor!"

He fell silent at that, but continued to stare at her with undisguised hostility. Hermione glanced down at her watch.

"I haven't much time," she murmured, almost to herself, "I was supposed to deliver the message and then return to the Ministry immediately…"

"I would prefer it if you did not address me as 'Professor', Auror Granger," Snape said quietly. She looked back up at him and saw what she thought might have been the tiniest hint of regret in his cold eyes. "It has been a…long time since I held that particular office."

"I apologise," she said stiffly, retrieving her insignia from where it lay and rising to her feet once more, trying not to wince as the legs of her chair scraped noisily against the rough stone floor. The realisation that she had seen Severus Snape for the first time in seven years was accompanied by the uncomfortable truth that once she had left the small room they were standing in she would _never_ see him again…be it in seven years or even seven days. It was an uncomfortable thought, and one that she tried unsuccessfully to push away.

In the days proceeding that terrible night atop the astronomy tower at Hogwarts, Hermione had tried, and largely succeeded in pushing all thoughts of Snape aside. Not thinking him worthy of any of her attention she had felt a surge brief, fierce anger followed by relief when he had been captured by the Order in the final days of the war. He had chosen not to present a defence at his trial, such as it was, and had been sentenced to a life term accordingly. He had never even spoken during his trial (a trial she had been present at), she remembered now, except to speak his name and to declare that he was 'guilty'.

She could not imagine how he must feel, now, to be sentenced to death after such a long time locked away from the world, would it make any difference to him at all?

In the years following his imprisonment she had barely spared her former Potions and Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor a thought until the previous month when the Death Decree had been passed. The task of telling Severus Snape that he was to be executed had pushed the man to the forefront of her mind for the first time in many years.

And now, it was impossible for her to explain why she should feel equal measures of anger and pity towards the man responsible for such shocking and damnable actions. Seeing him again had been a bigger shock to her system than she had anticipated. But it could not be helped; it was too late now.

"I really must go…" Stopping in front of the closed door she realised that she had not moved or spoken in many minutes, and then she steeled herself for what she had left to say. "You should expect another Auror's visit as soon as a date is decided for your…"

She could not finish the sentence past the lump in her throat, and she could not look back at Snape. There seemed nothing more to say - there was certainly nothing more that could be done - and she had stretched out a hand to grasp the heavy iron ring on the door to open it and make her exit when –

"Wait."

She did not move away from the door. Couldn't. The scrape of another chair on stone told her that Snape too, was on his feet. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as she felt him step into her personal space. Slowly, reluctantly, she turned to look at him.

"Wait." He repeated, hoarsely, and this time there was something in his face, a desperation, a terrible grief not entirely for himself, that made her realise it would be foolish to leave. The trouble she might encounter at the Ministry could wait, for now.

He must have seen the acquiescence in her face, because his own immediately closed up again, returning to the stony mask she was familiar with. Wordlessly, she gestured back to the chairs. They sat, facing each other, for several long moments of silence.

"What I am about to tell you…I have never spoken to another, Miss Granger."

Hermione did not bother to correct his calling her 'Miss Granger', even though it rankled with her slightly. She nodded to him once, jerkily.

"I have no interest in whether you believe my story or not. At this time I only wish to retell it to you."

"Why?"

Snape smiled a horrible parody of a smile, which contained no happiness.

"Would it surprise you to know that being executed is not the way that I would choose to die?"

"Of course not."

"Would it surprise you to know that, given the choice, and despite the things I have said to you today, I would rather not die at all?"

"No," she said patiently. "But if you commit a crime you cannot expect to choose your punishment!"

He stared at her hard, and unblinking. Understanding came quickly.

"You think that by telling me what really happened that night you're going to be acquitted in some way?" Hermione breathed. "That doesn't make sense! You've been here for _seven years, _Severus! Why didn't you speak of this at your trial?"

"Seven years ago they were not going to kill me, Hermione!" Snape said sharply. "Seven years in here is punishment enough." He was breathing hard through his nose, and the sound wheezed around the room.

"Punishment enough for…what?"

"For killing a man who wanted to die, Miss Granger. Only that. It was not in cold blood. It was not unprovoked. It was just…" He placed his head into his hands and screwed his fingers into his hair. "It was a situation that could not be redeemed because you see, I had no other option. I condemned myself because I had no choice!"

TBC…

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A/N 2: Expect further revelations in chapter five (which I haven't written yet!) and a possible shot at redemption for Severus. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to everyone for all of the terrific reviews I've received so far for this story, and special thanks to Alex who has reviewed some of my other (now sadly AU) efforts as well!

Implausibility lies ahead, although I've tried not to interfere with the canon. Events described below are my own interpretations, nothing more and nothing less. You may very well disagree with them, or think them too simplistic, but it was the best I could do and I make no apologies for that.

I still don't own anything.

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She stared at him, watching in silence as a dull flush spread across his hollow cheeks. He refused to look at her, and folding his arms across his chest he leaned back in his chair and stared down at the floor.

"There are always choices," she managed eventually. His face twisted, betraying anger and scorn.

"No, Miss Granger." He said heavily. "There are not always choices. You have not lived in the adult world long enough to appreciate that. Your view of the world is surprisingly naïve for one so intelligent," he managed the shadow of a smirk at his rebuke and Hermione was briefly incensed into silence.

"Explain, then," she forced out from between clenched teeth. "Tell me why you had no choice."

Snape bent his head further, his eyes still fixed upon the floor.

"An Unbreakable Vow," he said quietly. "A foolishly made Vow that I made in a desperate effort to gain the trust of other Death Eaters."

"With whom?"

"Narcissa Malfoy…" he glanced at her briefly when she uttered a sound of disbelief, but when she didn't elaborate he continued: "She came to me shortly before the beginning of your sixth school year, desperate for my…assistance. Her son, Draco, had received a mission from the Dark Lord himself and she was desperately worried about the consequences should he fail to complete it."

"The mission was…Dumbledore?" Hermione frowned.

"Yes," Snape murmured. "You must understand, Miss Granger, that I was at that time in a very precarious position within the ranks of the Dark Lord. There were few who trusted me at all, and many who were seeking to unmask me as the traitor they thought me to be. The making of the Vow was an excellent opportunity for me to make reparations to them whilst at the same time allowing me to gain inside knowledge on what the Dark Lord was planning. It was not something I was in a position to refuse. I made the Vow."

"Did you know what it was you would have to do? Ultimately?" Hermione could see the faraway glint in Snape's eyes become more pronounced the more that he said to her, even though the light in the small room was fading fast. He shook his head, slowly.

"No. But I was not in a position to admit that."

"That was very reckless," Hermione observed.

"It was the only way! Had I not made the Vow I would have been ostracised from the Dark Lord's ranks, and I would have been good for nothing! You have never been in such a position, so kindly do not judge me!" Snape shifted angrily in his seat, leaning towards her. Hermione stayed exactly where she was; this time choosing to retaliate.

"So far as I know I have never condemned anyone to death, either, Severus! The moral high ground is not yours to choose! Your actions were reprehensible, Dumbledore died _because of you_!"

The flush had long since disappeared from Snape's face. He was now chalk white, and visibly trembling with what she presumed was anger.

"Do you think I don't know that?" He was clearly struggling to keep his voice level. "Do you think that I have not lived with my decision and the consequences every single day since it was made?" He gestured. "I did not want Dumbledore to die at my hands, I did not want him to die at Draco's, I did not want him to die at all!"

They both breathed heavily into the silence, unable to look at each other.

"You know what an Unbreakable Vow entails, do you not, Miss Granger?" Snape asked heavily. A log in the fireplace shifted suddenly with a loud crackle and Hermione jumped.

"Of course I do." She whispered.

"Then you also know what would have been the result had I not been able to meet the requirements of the vow."

"Yes," she said hollowly.

"What?" He barked.

"You would have died." She lifted her gaze to his, his eyes were glitteringly angry.

"I would not have been alone. The Dark Lord told Draco that he would be held…accountable should he fail in his mission. He would have died too, Miss Granger, most likely along with his mother and father."

"So you were simply trading a life for lives, were you?" Hermione's voice was shrill. "The Malfoys would have been no great loss, by all accounts. Had you considered your own death? Or were you too cow-"

"-I would urge you not to complete that sentence, Auror!" Snape said icily. "If you would listen for a moment instead of persisting in creating a ridiculous commentary then perhaps you would learn something!"

She glowered at him, fingers itching for a wand she did not carry, but said nothing.

"I was reluctant to tell Dumbledore of what had happened, knowing that he would think of me in much the same way that you do now, Miss Granger, but such information could not be contained for long. Dumbledore understood the implications of what I told him far better than you or I could. He was…" Snape closed his eyes tightly, as if searching for a memory which pained him. "Shaken. Events had conspired against us, he said. He did not blame me for what I had done, as a lesser man almost certainly would have. He told me that he was not afraid to die and I…" He shuddered. "I called him a liar. 'There are worse things than death, Severus', he said, and then he looked at his hand, the right one."

"The cursed one."

"Yes. The Dark Lord's work of course, Albus said it was unavoidable but…" He closed his eyes again and this time did not reopen them. "The curse was slowly killing him, Miss Granger, in the worst way that you can imagine. It was consuming him from the inside, he was in constant pain by the beginning of that school year; pain that no potion or spell could relieve. He was growing steadily weaker as well, and when blaming the incident at the Ministry became too implausible he was forced to admit to me that he was…he was…"

"Dying." Hermione pressed a hand to her mouth, horror-struck.

"So you see, he was adamant that I did not break the Vow, and that circumstances be allowed to reach their inevitable conclusions. Four lives, he said, were not to be exchanged for his. He would not permit it."

"When Malfoy confronted him, on top of the Astronomy Tower…" A question was forming in Hermione's mind, and Snape answered it effortlessly, his eyes snapping open and fixing on hers.

"Both Dumbledore and I knew that he would not have the strength to kill," he said heavily. "His previous efforts had showed us enough. We both suspected that I would be the one to cast the _Avada_, when the time came. I had not anticipated that the time would come quite as it did…I was not prepared…"

"So you had agreed to do it?"

Snape looked pained.

"At first I had refused…it had been unthinkable. Dumbledore was my mentor; he had always shown me more respect than any other wizard I have ever known…I believe he looked upon me as one of his own…" As Hermione watched, he forced a grimy knuckle into his mouth and bit down on it in a concerted effort to control himself. His face was ashen when he removed it. "My hand was forced on top of that tower…I had never agreed to his plan, I had refused him time and time again…you cannot imagine what it was like. I don't know where he had been or what he had been doing with Potter up until that point, but he_ begged _me to do it…" He put his face in his hands; the words were muffled, but clear enough. "He _begged_ me to kill him. I was terrified, full of fear and self-loathing…it was the only way, Miss Granger. I would gladly have died for him, but it…the…" His voice broke, he heaved a dry sob. "The moment the c-c-curse passed my lips I would h-h-have given anything to take it back. But it was t-t-too late. He was dead!"

Hermione Granger sat mute and distraught as Severus Snape fell apart in front of her.

He sobbed only very briefly, deliberately turning away from her as his breathing was reduced to a series of broken gasps and waiting until it was once again controlled before turning back to her and lowering his hands to reveal red rimmed eyes and the weariest expression Hermione had ever seen. She stared at his face for a long time, unsure and frightened about what he had chosen to reveal to her.

Her brain felt as though it were filled with damp cotton wool, heavy and impenetrable as she tried to organise her thoughts. She had been almost completely ignorant of everything that he had told her; excepting the small details that Harry had imparted to her over the years she had never heard the story of what had happened atop the Astronomy Tower and Snape's version of events was extraordinary without question, but was it true?

That he had chosen to tell no one the _why _of his crime was even more so, but she had the answer to that, at least in theory. He had chosen to administer his own punishment; that being the 7 years he had spent in Azkaban. The decision to execute him had signalled the end of that tenure. He did not want to die for a crime that was perceived by others so wrongly, he had already told her that, and…nor did he deserve to, Hermione realised with a jolt.

Everything Snape had said was entirely plausible; if he had spoken at his trial then he would almost certainly not sitting before her today. Seven years was more than enough time to concoct such a tale, but something told her that, deep down, she did not believe that. He might have been lying to her, but what was the point of that? He was a condemned man; his death warrant was all but signed. Spinning her such a lie was an insane enterprise – she, who had delivered the news to him. _It didn't make sense. _Her mind raced, and she reached an abrupt conclusion. If the slightest chance of redeeming him remained, she would not condemn this man to death.

"Severus?" Her voice was slightly hoarse, but she stared at him unflinchingly.

"That is all there is, Miss Granger, it is all I can tell you. Make of it what you will…it hardly matters any more…"

"No. It's all right. I believe you." She spoke the words in a rush, and they tumbled over each other in their eagerness to be presented to him, but Snape remained remarkably indifferent.

"It makes no difference, Miss Granger, whether you believe me or not. I was not seeking absolution from you," he said tiredly.

_Weren't you? _Hermione thought. Possibilities swirled around her head, and she lurched to her feet. Snape squinted up at her in the half-light.

"Severus, I have to get back to the Ministry," she told him urgently. He shrugged.

"I'm going to get help."

"Miss Granger-" The tone of his voice was a warning. "They will think you as deranged as I if you repeat to them what I have just told you."

"Perhaps," she said quietly. "But I have to try."

Wrenching open the door she spotted the guard who had shown her into the prison standing at the top of the corridor. She beckoned, and as he began the long walk towards her she turned back to Snape.

"I'm coming back for you, Severus," she murmured.

Unsure if he had heard her, she was surprised to see him shake his head.

"Goodbye," she said softly.

"Farewell, Miss Granger," his dark eyes blazed into hers for a final time, and he looked away into the bright embers of the fireplace.

Hermione stared at the back of his head for a moment more before turning and striding along the corridor towards the oncoming guard, who was now no more than twenty paces away, and looking at her un-hooded face in some surprise.

"Listen to me," she said, when he was close enough to hear the soft hiss of her whisper. "I'm leaving now. But I'll be back in a few days. I want him moved into a better cell, with a proper bed. I want him fed decently too, and kept warm."

The guard looked a little dumbstruck, but nodded meekly, handing her back her wand as he did so. Satisfied, Hermione nodded to him and turned away before swinging back to him not two paces further along the corridor.

"One last thing…_for Merlin's sake give him a bath_!"

She did not wait to see the little man's response.

TBC…

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A/N 2: There are two more chapters still to come, if you were wondering. Chapter six will see a visit from the Minister of Magic and chapter seven will be a shortish epilogue, which I have already written. Both will be posted in a few days' time. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I haven't checked this as thoroughly as I normally would, but it's late and I'm tired so please excuse mistakes, except of course if there are any massive glaring ones, obviously.

Thanks for the reviews, they're all appreciated and some of them are really truly inspiring!

I don't own Harry Potter!

* * *

Hermione returned to Azkaban prison three days later, hurrying up the slate path with her head bent against a vicious wind that whipped her hair around her face and snapped at her robes as they billowed wildly around her small frame. It was not, however, raining on that particular day; something that she was grateful for as she was not sure that she would be able to stand it. She had not bothered to cover her face with the hood of her cloak, and had regretted it from the moment she had stepped off the boat – her eyes were streaming and stinging as she passed underneath the heavy portcullis and found herself standing in front of the impressive steel-bound door that was the main entrance to the prison.

She had only been waiting a handful of minutes when the door was hauled open to reveal the prison guard from her last visit, trying to mask the look of curiosity on his face with one of annoyance.

"You again?" He asked, slightly incredulously.

"Yes," Hermione said grimly, stepping into the entranceway waiting for the door to close behind her. She handed him her wand without being prompted. "Where is he?"

"Now wait a minute!" The guard was flustered. "You can't just go barging off to see him, there are protocols you know!"

Hermione's mouth was set in a hard line. "It's confidential," she hissed. "So why don't you run off and confirm it with the Ministry?"

The guard looked at her a little more closely.

"I'll do that." He huffed, and disappeared at a fast enough walk for Hermione to realise that her presence in the prison for a second time had unsettled the poor man. She sighed, her eyes darkening, and waited.

The guard returned barely five minutes later, and after running the Secrecy Sensor over her with what Hermione considered extreme haste, he ushered her towards a different doorway from the one he had shown her to previously, a door which opened to reveal a winding staircase that seemed to twist on forever and eventually stopped to reveal the top floor of the prison. It looked identical, Hermione realised wearily, to the rest of the prison.

She was marched to a cell halfway down the hushed corridor, which was silently checked and unlocked before the guard would look at her again, seemingly fighting a silent battle.

"He's in there," he said eventually. "I'll wait…"

"…At the end of the corridor, yes. Thank you."

He grunted at her and stomped away. Hermione closed her eyes briefly in his wake and rubbed at the bridge of her nose fractiously, wishing fiercely that she was not standing where she was, doing what she was about to do.

But it could not be helped. There was nothing for it. She pushed open the door to this new cell and her red-rimmed eyes immediately fell upon Severus Snape, who was once again sleeping, but this time upon a bench that protruded from the wall and was topped with a grey mattress. He slept on his side, facing out towards her, his thin body curved into a foetal position with his arms wrapped around his knees for warmth although it was noticeably warmer in this cell than the one on the lower levels.

Hermione could see that he was cleaner, and his hair had been cut to shoulder length, albeit with a clumsy and inexperienced hand that left it uneven and ravaged in places. Snape's face, which she could just make out beneath a covering of his hair, was screwed up as though he was in unspeakable pain.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there, staring down at him as he slept, but her heart was hammering loudly in her chest as she sunk to her knees next to the bench and reached out tentatively, not sure where to touch him in case he lashed out at her. She needn't have worried, her hand was hovering above his shoulder when his eyes suddenly flickered open and he shifted away from her, slowly uncurling himself as he did so.

"Auror…Granger?" He murmured, pushing his hair away from his face in order to see her more clearly, but remaining in a horizontal position.

"Hello Severus," Hermione whispered, and was mortified as tears unexpectedly filled her eyes.

Turning her head away from his gaze, she struggled to control herself and the feelings that were spiralling dangerously out of control; breathing deeply and curling her hands into fists at her sides. When she could finally look him in the eye again, she could see that he knew what it was she was about to tell him.

"I'm so sorry, Severus," she choked out. "I'm so sorry."

His expression remained impassive, and she found the will to continue.

"I did everything that I could, I tried everything but no one would listen! Kingsley Shacklebolt dismissed what I told him out of hand, he refused to even pass on my concerns to the Minister for Magic and when I tried to tell him myself…" Hermione was briefly transported back to the fierce argument she had had with the Minister's secretary the previous afternoon. The stupid woman had been adamant that the Minister was away on a 'very important' dragon symposium in Hungary and could absolutely not be disturbed, especially not by a 'deranged Auror with a half-brained theory' that made her a 'disgrace to the service'. "I left him my report asking him to contact me urgently, I even tried to floo him but I couldn't get through! The Auror service has forbidden me to go to Hungary to speak to him directly. The Minister is out of the country until late next week at the earliest." She finished heavily.

"Will he speak to you then?" Snape enquired quietly, and without enthusiasm. Hermione's eyes widened.

"I'm afraid that even if he did, it would be…" she trailed off.

"It would be what?" He prompted after a silence that Hermione had used to cover her face with her hands.

"…It would be too late, Severus," her voice was muffled. "The ministry issued a notice for your execution late last night. They're planning on doing it in three days time and there is nothing," she slid her hands away from her face, revealing a horrified expression, "that I can do about it."

"I presume I am not supposed to know that?" Snape's face and the tone of his voice betrayed no emotion at all, and Hermione did not know how he managed it. She shook her head.

"They've sent me to tell you," she whispered. "I've got the notice with me…the Minster for Magic signed it personally before he left England. They intend to take you from here to the Department of Mysteries within the Ministry and…they want you to pass through the veil, Severus! If you won't do it willingly you will be…the word that Shacklebolt used was 'coerced.'"

He sat up slowly, wincing a little before leaning back against the wall. From her position on the floor, Hermione stared up at him desperately.

"Sit with me, Miss Granger," he said heavily, and she complied, turning her face to stare into his, which was frighteningly blank.

"Calm yourself, Hermione," he said tonelessly. "I did not expect that you would succeed in your attempt to have my punishment withdrawn. I have accepted that this is to be my fate. A great wizard told me once that to the well-organised mind, death is but the next adventure." A single tear slid down Hermione's cheek and she brushed it angrily away with a grey-clad sleeve. "I believe him, Miss Granger, and I am prepared to follow him into whatever it is that lies beyond."

"But I don't want…" she cried brokenly. "You don't deserve to die!"

The whisper of a smile crossed Snape's face.

"You are so young, Miss Granger, and you have so much ahead of you. What you _want _is irrelevant here…no matter how much you want it, and as for deserving to die…I believe you said it yourself during our last meeting. If the Ministry thinks that I should be punished for what I did then I will be punished. If that punishment is my own death then I accept that, even though I do not embrace it as I perhaps should."

"_But the Ministry doesn't know what you did!_" She was crying freely now, and did not bother to hide her distress. Snape reached out suddenly and grasped her shoulders, giving her a little shake.

"Miss Granger…Hermione…It doesn't matter any more. No…" He saw the argument in her eyes. "You have done more, much more, than I would ever have expected you to…you should know that it doesn't matter that you failed, it only matters that you tried. Death is a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favour."

"No…please…" she slumped against him, heedless of the danger that her colleagues would have said this would have undoubtedly put her in, and felt him hesitate for only a moment before he put his arms around her shaking form and held her. She spilled hot, angry tears onto the front of his worn robes and balled her hands into fists against his thin chest and he said nothing, only holding her still within his embrace. She did not know how much time passed in this way, but her tears dwindled as her shock and pain began to recede, and eventually she pulled away from him. He let her go easily and his face was contemplative.

"This is wrong." She said softly, but her words were clear and firm. "What they are going to do…it is so wrong."

Snape had opened his mouth to reply when there was a clattering from the corridor outside of his cell, which Hermione identified as footsteps. Hurriedly getting to her feet and wiping at her blotchy face with her sleeve, she touched the suddenly apprehensive man lightly on the shoulder and stepped quickly to the cell door.

In the corridor, she almost collided with her prison guard, who was flushed and breathing heavily and in a state of some agitation.

"Auror Granger…" He wheezed at her, "The Minister for Magic…he's here!"

Hermione instantly felt as though she had been dropped from a great height, she inhaled sharply.

"He's here now?" She asked, urgently. The guard nodded.

"He followed me up the stairs."

There was no time for Hermione to do anything, not that there was a plan of any sort formed in her head in the first place, because even as the guard had spoken there was another clatter of feet on stone, and the Minister for Magic was striding towards her with a face like thunder and bright green eyes that were full of anger. Without looking back at the cell or its occupant, Hermione started towards him, full of panicky fear.

"Hermione!" Harry Potter, the youngest ever Minister for Magic, was white with rage. In his right hand, Hermione saw the hastily written report that she had lodged with his secretary the day before. "What in Merlin's name do you think you're playing at? They've dragged be back from Hungary for this!"

"Hello Minister," she said nervously, and his frown deepened, almost throwing his scar into relief.

"I've asked you not to call me that, Hermione, it's ridiculous. As is this!" He shook the report for emphasis. "You don't," his voice noticeably lowered as the guard approached them, "actually believe any of this, do you?"

Hermione breathed sharply through her nose, and then grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and yanked him into the closest cell. He still looked angry, but now he also looked confused. Hermione did not give him the chance to complain.

"Harry, I wrote it. I gave it to you. Of course I believe it."

"What's he done to you?" Harry was hostile. "Are you even the real Hermione…" he reached out to touch her but she slapped his hand away, furiously.

"Harry, stop it! I'm me, all right?"

He looked at her expression, and didn't contradict her, instead returning his attention to her report.

"He's lying, Hermione, to get out of what he's got coming."

"He's not! I know you don't understand but-"

"-This is seven years' worth of planning, seven years of weaving the most plausible tale he could think of!"

"No, Harry. I thought so too, at first, but you haven't seen him, you haven't spoken to him…he's not lying."

"He's a filthy coward!" Harry spat. Hermione's eyes filled with tears again. Harry looked aghast.

"He's not a coward…please, Harry, listen to me! You have to speak to him…he doesn't deserve to die!"

The Minister for Magic seemed lost for words as one of his best friends struggled not to cry for a man who he hated with every fibre of his being.

"I don't understand you." He said coldly, once Hermione had composed herself once more. "You're the cleverest witch that I've ever known and…"

Hermione was fumbling in the pockets of her robes, frantically searching for something. Finally, she removed her hand from a hidden pocket and showed Harry what it was that lay in her open palm. A small glass stoppered bottle, containing a small amount of totally clear liquid. She thrust it into the Minister's hands.

"Here. Veritaserum." Aurors visiting Azkaban were allowed to carry a small amount of the truth serum with them, for 'interrogation purposes' according to the ministry guidelines. It had never been used at Snape's trial because he had admitted his guilt; there had been no need for it.

Harry looked at her, bewildered.

"You are not suggesting that I…"

She nodded.

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting. Harry…" her voice was gentle. "You need to know the truth, you need to know what really happened that night. If you ask him he'll tell you, I know he will."

Her friend's expression remained uncertain.

"Please, Harry. You have nothing to lose."

Harry Potter's face became grim. He pressed the Veritaserum gently back into her hand.

"All right then, I will. But I won't need that."

He wheeled about and Hermione listened to his footsteps carrying him away from her and towards Snape's cell. Silence descended, and she waited.

Hermione did not know how long Harry spent speaking with Snape, but she had settled herself upon the bed in the cell and was leaning against the wall and drifting into sleep when the sound of footsteps awoke her fully once more. Harry walked into the cell, his face ashen, and sat down heavily next to her.

"I never thought that I would say this," the man shook his head. "But I believe him."

There was a pause as Hermione let out a breath that felt as though she had been holding in for hours. Harry's face was a picture of disbelief and shock, Snape's revelations had obviously hit him hard, and he was shaking.

"It's the right decision, Harry," she squeezed his arm. He looked unconvinced.

"Is it? I would rather see him dead for the things he's done…I think the Wizengamot would as well…But taking his life for Dumbledore's doesn't seem to matter any more, it seems…well, pointless."

"What are you going to do? Leave him here?" Hermione felt the tiniest stirrings of the emotion she recognised as hope.

Harry frowned.

"No."

"No?"

"I'm going to send him into exile." He folded his arms across his chest.

"Exile?"

"He'll be free, in a manner of speaking, to pursue whatever life he wishes to. But I will not let him do it here. He can choose the country, and I want him gone tonight, Hermione. I never want to see him again, but I would rather not have his death on my conscience, either."

Hermione thought that she understood. It was not as though Snape could ever hope to live peaceably in the wizarding community of Britain, not now. What Harry was offering was probably more than he could have hoped for.

"Did he accept your terms?" She asked him quietly.

"Yes," Harry got to his feet. "I'm sending him now. I can't tell you where he's chosen, you understand? You are not to go looking for him, either." He warned. She nodded. "Come on."

They walked together back to the cell that held Severus Snape, who was pacing the width of his cell. He flicked a glance at Hermione that was full of things she could not interpret fully, but she understood his main intention plainly enough.

_Thank you._

Beside her, Harry had fashioned a portkey from a handkerchief and was staring down at it, seemingly lost in thought. Shaking his head, he held it out to Snape who took it without hesitation. At the same time, he produced Snape's wand, which was handed over with more than a little reticence on Harry's part. Snape though, barely spared the rod of wood a glance as he pocketed it.

"Mr Potter-" He began.

"-I don't want your thanks," Harry would not look at him. "Take your freedom. Go."

Snape's eyes met Hermione's a final time, and she managed a half smile, thinking of the words that Harry had spoken to her only minutes ago. Never seeing him again was compromise enough for his life, she thought. Knowing that he was alive in the world, somewhere, was all that she would know from this point onwards.

It would be enough.

It had to be.

Ten seconds after taking the portkey, Severus Snape simply faded away from the spot where he stood. It was hard to believe that he had ever been there.

Before he had completely disappeared, Hermione was sure she had seen him smile.

…

_Goodbye Severus._

…

Turning to her shaken best friend, she took his arm gently.

"Come on Harry," her voice was strong. "It's time to go."

TBC...a little bit

* * *

A/N 2: _Death is a punishment to some, to some a gift, and to many a favour _is a quote from the Roman philosopher Lucius Annaeus Seneca the younger (4 BC – AD 65).

I'm not sure if I should have split this chapter in two…

The epilogue will follow in a few days' time.

I'm not sure Harry ever will become Minister for Magic, I just thought it was a nifty plot device.

Hermione's reaction to Severus' impending death might seem a little OTT, but I wanted her to express her pain at a situation she could not control or redeem…I thought she would feel very hurt and upset by the idea that a man could die without others being aware of the true nature of his 'crime'. She is still quite a young woman in this story. If that doesn't work so well, I apologise.


	7. Chapter 7 Epilogue

A/N: This epilogue is seriously lightweight. It undoubtedly completes the story for me, but be warned that the previous chapter probably works better as a 'real' ending. I wanted to write something with a bit more hope to it, as book 7 is such a long way off (and this will then surely join all my other stories in being AU). 

Out Of Character-ness abounds.

Never mind. Thanks so much for all of the amazing reviews I've received for this – I'm so flattered that so many of you have enjoyed this story!

BTW, I don't own Harry Potter!

* * *

Nine months later…

The sun was setting in a dramatic sky as Hermione Granger winked into existence with a 'pop' which shattered the tranquil silence. The apparating aside, she outwardly showed no sign of being the witch that she was. Her nondescript linen clothing and sunglasses made her a late-season tourist perhaps, taking a stroll along the beach…

Red gold light was tinting everything that it touched in this southern region of Portugal called Odemira. The lonely stretch of coast to the south of a village called Almograde was dominated by the energetic surf of the Atlantic, which enthusiastically and possessively pounded the sandy shore of the beach that Hermione now stood upon, alone for miles in either direction. She turned slowly, her eyes searching…searching…

The whitewashed villa sat back from the beach, rising up from the scrubby ground some two hundred metres from where Hermione stood, singular and surprising amongst nothing but sand and sea and dust…but somehow seeming to belong there all the same. To the untrained eye it would have appeared deserted, a holiday home perhaps, standing unused and lonely before the October sunset, but Hermione knew better. Just apparating onto the beach had alerted her to the magical wards that surrounded the place, and that was not all. As she set off towards the villa and drew closer she could see the well-tended oleander and eucalyptus trees were growing in the garden. Closer still, the sweet smell of jasmine reached her nose from a bush that had been trained to grow up the front wall of the villa, where it hung low over a door. Plants, Hermione knew, did not grow well in such hot climates unless they were well tended. The villa was occupied, and she knew by whom.

As she came closer still to the building she saw that a large wooden deck extended out from one side of it, and on the deck stood a variety of wooden furniture and pots of various brightly flowering plants. The deck was deserted, but an upturned book, several glasses, and a jug of what looked like iced water sat upon a table close to the front edge of the villa. On silent feet, Hermione approached the deck, stepped up onto it and then walked slowly over to the book to look down at its' spine. Pushing her sunglasses back off her face so that they might hold her errant curls back, she read the gold-lettered title.

_Jamaica Inn. _Her eyebrows lifted. A book where many things are not what they seem_…interesting…_

She was about to pick the book up to see just how far its' reader had read when her attention was diverted by the sudden cry of a bird, and she glanced up just in time to see something plummet from the sky and dive into the sea with a loud splash. Whatever it was, it had completely disappeared beneath the surface of the waves, and Hermione was wondering if it had died in midair when it suddenly burst out of the sea carrying what was unmistakeably a fish in its hooked beak.

"An osprey," said a dry voice from over her left shoulder. "A sea hawk. From the Latin…" The voice continued conversationally, "…_ossifragus_, which means - "

"- Bone-breaker," Hermione supplied, turning to face the owner of the voice. "Yes. Hello Severus."

"Hermione," he tilted his head towards her in greeting, and gestured to a chair.

She sat down, looking at him closely all the while. He placed himself easily into the seat opposite and poured her a glass of water.

"You look well," she told him softly,

And it was true. He did.

Nine months of Portugal had obviously worked an entirely different kind of magic upon Severus Snape than the kind that either of them practised. He looked perfectly healthy, better even than when he was still teaching at Hogwarts. He had gained some weight, and although he was still very slim he had lost the look of starvation that had haunted him in Azkaban, he was no longer quite so angular, although the sharp lines of his face still remained. He was pale enough for her to realise that he had mostly kept himself out of the sun, but there were the markings of a faint tan dusted across his nose and upon his forearms, which were clearly visible as he had carelessly rolled up the sleeves of the white linen shirt he wore. His feet too, were bare and dusty; his ankles exposed by a too-short pair of dark trousers.

She lifted her eyes back to his face, staring into black eyes that no longer seethed with anger or resentment, and instead glinted with curiosity as he stared out at the sea over her shoulder. Catching her gaze, he held her eyes solemnly for a second or two and then –

"I _am_ well," he said simply, placing his elbows on the table and steepling his fingers in front of him. "But I must confess that I did not expect to ever see you again, Hermione," he said. "I am…surprised."

Hermione smiled wistfully.

"I…used my influence at the Ministry." It was impossible for her to convey to him how often she had thought about him in the months since his exile, wondering if he was safe and well, wondering if he was happy. The truth was that Harry had simply become so exasperated with her constant enquires about it that he had eventually given in and told her where Snape might be found during a heated argument several days previously. The Minister had refused to speak to her ever since. "I wanted - no…" she checked herself and shrugged at him. "I needed to see you. To make sure that you were all right."

"Are you surprised or relieved?" Snape's eyes flickered over hers as he passed his water glass from hand to hand, sliding it across the smooth wood of the table.

"Both." She confessed. "I had no way of knowing, and Harry…he wasn't telling."

"The villa has been in my possession for a number of years, since even before Azkaban." His eyes darkened a little as he mentioned the prison, like a shadow passing across the sun. Not everything had been healed then, Hermione realised. "It was only logical that I came here when Mr. Potter gave his most…surprising…offer. Was that your doing, Miss Granger?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "He decided that himself."

"Well." Snape spread his hands, palms downward, on the table. "That _is _a surprise."

His eyes met hers and did not look away, and they were warm and alive with curiosity. Hermione felt a flush creeping up her cheeks for reasons she could not quite identify.

"What have you been doing with yourself?" She was slightly flustered, and the question was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Finally tearing her eyes away from his, she grabbed her glass of water with both hands, drinking deeply.

When she replaced the glass on the table, Snape was staring at her in obvious amusement.

"I tend to my garden, I read my books. Sometimes I go into Almograde so that the locals can laugh at my lamentable Portuguese, which I am still learning. I walk on the beach and I swim in the sea. I think. Sometimes at night, I dream." He half-smiled. "Before I came here I had not dreamed in a long time. It is not unpleasant."

"Do you use magic?" Remembering his indifference when he had been given his wand back, Hermione would not have been shocked if he did not.

"I am still a wizard." He absently traced the condensation on the side of his glass with a long finger. "But my life is very simple now, as you can see. It is…different."

"Different, good or different, bad?"

"Different, different." He looked at her closely, hesitating. "But none of this would have been possible without you," he said quietly. She snorted, a combination of nerves and embarrassment.

"Anyone would have done the same thing. It doesn't matter that it was _me_."

"You are quite wrong. Most other wizards and witches would have been quite happy to let me die. What was it that Potter said to me? Ah, yes: '_I think you deserve what you get'."_

Hermione sighed.

"Harry is…complicated," she acknowledged. "He does not forgive easily. He is refusing to speak to me because I am here. I don't think he will ever forgive you…even if, in the end, he was wrong."

"Life is not divided into black and white. It is the shades of grey that ultimately make the difference to all of us." Snape took a drink, looking thoughtful. "For what it is worth, I do not blame Harry for the way that he feels about me. I have given him more than enough reasons to hate me."

"I suppose you are right," she conceded eventually. "But he still saved your life."

"_You_ saved my life."

"Severus…" she pleaded. He waved her away, shaking his head.

"I was about to eat dinner when I arrived. Will you stay a while?"

She shook her head regretfully, pushing away the pang of disappointment and simultaneous urge to say 'yes'.

"Thank you, but no. I should go, really. I only wanted…" she gestured towards him. "And it's obvious that you're, well…"

"I understand."

They rose from the table at the same time, and he walked around it to stand by her side, peering down at her.

"Would you wait here a moment? I have something for you."

Hermione nodded wordlessly and watched him as he swept away from her with feline grace, striding across the deck and disappearing into the villa. She could not imagine what it was that he was going to give to her; especially as it had been far from clear if he would ever have the opportunity to do so anyway. She turned away and stared at the sun slipping into the sea on the horizon. It would be dark soon, she realised, looking up a sky that was blue but shot with pink and red and gold. Her nondescript London flat under nondescript grey skies beckoned, although she took no joy from it.

"Hermione?"

Snape was once again standing right behind her, holding something tightly in his right fist, which he uncurled as soon as she looked down at her. Silver glinted in the pink light, flashing up at her as he picked the item up with his left hand and let it dangle there.

The pendant was a small oval bearing the raised image of a man. It hung from a long silver chain, and both were clearly beautifully made. Hermione looked from the pendant to Snape and back again.

"What's this?" She asked softly. The pendant swung in the breeze.

"The man is St. Jude. The patron saint of desperate causes. There is an artisan in the village…I commissioned it from him."

"You were never a desperate cause, Severus." Hermione whispered, and bent her head as he unfastened the chain and placed it gently around her neck. The weight of the pendant settled just below the hollow of her collarbone, and she touched it gently.

"It is beautiful. Thank you."

On her tiptoes, she reached up and gently kissed his cheek in a combined gesture of thanks and farewell. As she drew away she saw him touch the spot she had kissed, curiously.

"I'm so glad that I could see you again," she told him. "And I'm so glad that you're free."

He said nothing, his face curiously closed, and lifted a hand in farewell as she began to walk away.

Keeping her head down and not looking backer was a harder task than Hermione had imagined, but she managed to do both as she walked back towards the ocean, staring down at her feet as they sunk into the sand with every step that she took away from him. As soon as she had cleared the villa's wards, she braced herself to apparate away and was just about to do so when a pair of hands grasped her by the shoulders and span her around.

Severus Snape's face was white, and he was breathing heavily from running after her, but Hermione had no time to assimilate either fact as he pulled her into a fierce hug. Squashed up against his chest, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, feeling his heartbeat galloping under her ear. When his hold loosened slightly, she lifted her head to look up at him and caught one glimpse of the utter determination in his eyes before he placed his mouth firmly against hers and kissed her soundly.

When he let her go, they both staggered a little on the sand and they were both flushed.

"Come back and see me again, Hermione. When you are ready." Severus told her solemnly.

"I will," she returned. "I promise."

"Until then," he inclined his head.

"Until then." She repeated, closing her eyes and allowing herself to apparate away. Upon opening them again, she found herself beneath dark London skies that were heavy with rain.

The feel of his kiss against her lips reminded her that they would indeed meet again.

And she smiled.

THE END

* * *

A/N: Both the village and area of Portugal exist, and both are geographically correct, for those who might be interested!

The St. Jude stuff is also true.


End file.
